by Gabe Sluis
The briefing broke up and everyone moved off to their temporary quarters for sleep after their long trip off the planet from which they were born. Not many generations before, the thought of going off to bed up on Sulva was beyond a dream. Now, it was no longer in the headlines when a child was born off-world. The humans of the planet Tellus had taken their first bold steps out into a sea of stars.
***
“Good morning, Sir. Please scan in,” the attendant said. “I see this is your first session with us, Lieutenant Drogen. And, you have a group scheduled in a couple hours.”
“Yes, I wanted to do my time before my people. Then, I can make sure they all do theirs. Is there space available?” Aros asked.
“Sure, when was the last time you used a SRT?”
“Over a year ago. The North Station is pretty old and had limited activities,” Aros said.
“Well, here on Palus, we provide for the Services and residents, so we have a very large catalog to choose from. Feel free to go through the list and find the activity that interests you.”
After scanning the long list for a few seconds, Aros said, “I’ll do ‘Tree Climb’.”
“Very good, Sir. That’s one of my favorites. You can put on your suit in room twenty three and report to the corresponding tank.”
Putting on the skin suit took five minuets. Aros then left the dressing room and entered the tank room. Immediately the sterile smell came back to him. Though no one here would understand, the odor of the SRT viscous reminded him of the smell of vinyl. Aros climbed the ladder to the platform of the tank where he grabbed his headgear from a hook, which consisted of a full-face mask so that he could breath and see what was going on in his workout activity. Following commands, Aros grabbed a hold of the dipping bar, which pushed him down into the clear gel. The ‘sludge,’ as users of the SRT affectionately referred to the viscous, was warm upon entering. The dipping bar retracted and the gel began to thicken as the temperature dropped. Polarizing, to create upward resistance, gravity was simulated uniquely for each program.
Aros’s view from inside his mask consisted of blurry images with the shadows of small bubbles trapped in solution. The view out of the mask began to darken as the program began. He was suspended upright, legs and feet extended straight down. Aros closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the dry air. When he opened them, Aros found himself in a grassy meadow with a morning light filtering through the tall trees he was to climb. Almost like home, he thought.
Submerged Resistance Training was like no other type of workout. Every movement made during the forty-five minuet training time faced a resistance from the thick viscous. The programs were designed to give the exercisers mental stimulation as their bodies got the stress they needed to counteract the reduced gravity. Aros climbed the branches of the never-ending tree, getting a better view of the ‘landscape’ the higher he went. Looking into the tanks in the large room, dozens of bodies deep in the sludge, connected to the surface by a hose off the back of the headgear, moved around in odd movements interacting with their simulated environments.
A timer announcing the coming end of Aros’s time in the SRT counted down to zero. Aros once again found himself in the blur as the dipping bar met him for the short ride to the surface. The temperature increased and the viscous slid off the outside of the suit to the grated walkway that Aros was deposited on. Seven minuets later, Aros was back in uniform and setting off to the check-in he arranged with his people.
***
Later that evening, Aros walked into The Halftrack, one of Palus Somni’s three bars. Filled with all types of Service personnel and civilians, the room was alive, but not over crowded. Lieutenant Veldt saw his fellow gunship commander and motioned him over.
“How you doing Drogen?”
“I’m doing good, Max,” Aros said, impressing Veldt by remembering his first name. “You?”
“Having trouble sleeping in this gravity. But its worth it, I watched Tellus rise this morning!” Veldt said loudly over the dull roar of the bar crowd.
“Yeah. I’m glad everything has gone so well so far. No problems at all.”
“You spoke too soon, buddy. You better go put your boy to bed before he gets himself into trouble,” Veldt said, pointing across the room to the end of the bar.
Across the room, a conversation was growing more animated and gaining the attention of everyone in earshot.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I still say its fake. Look at the stupid stuff you guys wear to your fights,” Crescent said. He was standing in front of a table that was occupied by two civilians, one of which was huge.
“We appreciate all our fans. Why don’t you take your buddies and go drink over at the bar,” said the arena fighter standing to the big guys left.
“I think what you guys do is neat, but you would never stand a chance against some of the league fighters from Northern Columbia,” Crescent said, not realizing he spilled a small bit of his drink as he spoke.
The two other guys standing behind Crescent, also wearing dark blue, were quite enjoying this tell-off. The two at the table were not.
“Listen, space kid, get bent or we will show you how terrible Sulvan fighters really are.”
“You show-offs would never stand a chance against soldiers in the Space Service. We are trained to take down Scalies. What have you ever done that was hard? Work out all day?” Crescent scoffed.
That was when the table flipped. In the low gravity, it caused a storm. Liquids flew and the table rotated several times as it continued it upwards movement, banging off the ceiling. Reflexes of the soldiers were slowed by the courage that had gotten them this far. the blue uniforms were stunned by the flurry. The big fighter stepped forward and grabbed Crescent by the neck.
“Alright, Scalie-Slayer,” Anak said, lifting Cress off the ground. “Sort me out, then! No? Not a single man on this rock could make me submit, and especially not any little boy in your precious Service.”
The giant tossed Crescent back towards where he picked him up. Anak turned to walk back to his seat when he suddenly changed his mind. He pointed a meaty finger at Crescent, who sat on the ground nursing his neck.
“In fact, I’m sick of you punks coming up here like you own this city, thinking you’re invincible. You will be at the arena in six hours and we will set the record straight. Be there, or I will find you and force your submission, without a referee,” Anak demanded.
This time, as Anak turned to leave with his companion in tow, he was stopped by the challenge of an unfamiliar voice.
“Not a single man in the Service could make you submit?”
In the silence that followed, Anak faced this new defiance with a look of tired annoyance on his face.
“I am in charge of this drunken idiot, and I will fight you in his place,” Aros said, standing in the clearing created by the recent havoc.
“Fine, see you in six,” Anak shot back, exiting The Halftrack.
***
“They’re not going to take this seriously!” Martinez protested. A group of blue uniforms stood at the side of the arena. Across the ported glass they could see Anak warming up for the quick fight he expected. “Where is your L.T., Cress?”
Just then, Aros walked down into the arena floor. He began to take off his uniform top as the white faced Crescent protested.
“I’m sorry I got you into this, Sir. You don’t have to do this for me.”
“I can’t report to my new assignment with a broken man, that I was responsible for,” Aros said with a slight hint of humor. “Who are these two other chuckle-heads anyway?”
“Martinez and Doyle. We went to Training together. I saw them up here and we got a bit out of control, I guess.”
“I guess. So, what am I dealing with?” Aros asked taking off his boots and rolling up his pants into cuffs.
“Almost half the city is here. We saw a Major, but no one higher in rank than that so far,” Doyle reported. “In case you don’t know, Anak is the
champ up here. They kicked him out of the Brazilian league for repeated excessive brutality.” There was worry in the specialists’ voice. “And they don’t call him a giant for no reason. He has got to be five inches and a hundred pounds bigger than you, Sir.”
“It will be fine,” Aros said, pulling his uniform top off. Wearing only his tank-top undershirt and rolled up pants, he left the worried Specialists outside the battle floor.
Aros stepped inside the cylindrical chamber and the door shut behind him. Across the opposite side of the floor, he could see Anak through the clear wall making his way to his entrance. The giant entered and stood across the fifty foot distance from Aros, tattoos adorning his hands from wrist down, and no where else. Bare-chested, Anak’s equatorial brown skin looked menacing compared to the smaller and less bulky Aros Drogen who stood to face him. The crowd that gathered began to cheer as they anticipated a brutal one-sided fight.
The judge of the fight took his place in the overlook, located high up on the wall of the battle floor. Five minuets were put on the clock.
Around the circle of the battle floor, Aros stood on the north, Anak the south, the judge above the west and the clock above the east. A loud buzzer sounded its two short, one long, to signal the start of the fight.
***
Anak immediately exploded towards his prey, in order to close the distance. Getting inside his enemies striking range was Anak’s usual tactic, being proficient at submissions. He lacked all concern for this fight, as he imagined it coming to a rapid and pathetic conclusion.
The crowd started in with it’s beginning of match cheering, all present thinking that the young lieutenant had become frozen with fear. Anak moved through and past the middle of the floor. But, the collective thought evaporated when Aros leapt up into a slow rotating backflip, planting both feet on the arena wall, springing out, and sailing over the top of the incoming missile that was ‘The Giant’.
Anak caught the movement and skidded around, facing the opposite direction. The large man rose out of his crouched position and began a series of spin kicks, moving towards the just landed Aros.
At this quick turn and flurry from his opponent, Aros lowered himself and shifted to the left, striking even more quickly at the back of Anak’s outstretched leg. Anak’s leg came down with no reaction from the strike and planted firmly on the mat.
Anak grabbed for Aros, who was positioned in front of him after the leg strike. Holding his opponent by an arm and torso, Anak began to bring Aros upwards for a spectacular throwing move, which he was known for.
Instead, Aros slipped both his arms free and grabbed Anak’s head, pulling it close, delivering an effective knee strike.
Momentarily stunned by the blow, Anak relaxed his grip and Aros, allowing his prey to kick out with both feet into his midsection.
Aros shot away from the immediate danger, landing onto all fours in a defensive position.
Fifteen seconds had dropped away from the clock. The crowd cheered loudly, relishing the quick action early in the fight. But mostly, the crowd was amazed by Aros’s nimble performance and current avoidance of a sure pummeling.
Back on the floor, Anak had taken a quick pause to assess what had happened.
Aros pushed with his arms and came back to his feet, moving backwards and holding his ground in the east end of the arena.
Anak made the decision to change tactics and moved in towards Aros, throwing a barrage of arm-strikes.
In sharp reaction, Aros moved away from each of the deliberate heavy-handed strikes just in time for each to miss by inches.
On the side, Crescent and the other Service personnel in Aros’s corner winced with each blow.
“He is going to get his head ripped off!” someone said in dismay. From the angle of the upper deck looking into the floor, Aros appeared to narrowly avoiding the strikes.
“No, he’s got this. He’s just wearing him down!” Crescent said back confidently. "Look at the crazy way he is grinning!"
While the strikes were raining down around Aros, his feet were moving. Upon the first opportunity to relocate, Aros darted out of the cone of fire and delivered a roundhouse kick to the back of Anak’s right leg. Using the momentum from the kick, Aros looped around behind the giant as he dropped to the struck leg. Aros wasted no time delivering a knife strike to the side of Anak’s neck as he continued his movement. With Anak facing the wall where he previously stood, Aros side-flipped and launched himself off the wall in much the same way as his opening maneuver. As he shot forward, Aros delivered a punch to the other side of Anak’s head. His flight pattern knocked askew by delivering the blow, Aros landed on his feet and was greeted by an incoming front kick from a recovered Anak.
Moving without thinking, Aros swung his left hand to strike the incoming leg, and used the power of that swinging punch to spin himself around. With a little leap and a right-handed back fist, Anak’s jaw was dealt a solid hit.
Thirty seconds were now off the clock and the crowd was roaring as they watch the smaller man move like a cyclone around The Giant.
Anak, appearing unaffected by the strikes, used the opportunity to grab Aros and half spin toss the stinging whelp away.
In the substantially lower gravity, Aros sharply rotated his body, landing on his feet from the throw.
Anak pressed hard, coming down right on top of his slippery opponent, charging after the body he attempted to send flying.
This time, Aros was the one to change tactics.
Like a frog, Aros leapt away. Bouncing off the walls and floor, he continued to evade all of Anak’s charging advances.
The crowd was thundering at the unexpected direction of this fight. Viewers commented to each other how they never guessed the young Space Service officer could last this long in a brawl against the exiled fighter.
At forty seven seconds after the clock began its countdown, the chase came to an end. A visibly tired Anak struck at his opponent who quickly was not there. It was apparent that Anak was fatiguing quickly, not usually having to fight this fast and furious at the same time. His specialty was closing the distance and swiftly ending the fight. But despite how close he got, he could not put the cocky lieutenant down! To make matters worse, this was not even a real fighter; this was some spoiled space adventurer. He was infuriated that this kid would not stand still and fight like…
And that’s when it happened, instead of jumping away, the little black haired boy, jumped right at him. Anak found himself off balance, and overextended.
Aros came in headfirst and appeared to only be passing over Anak when he threw a vicious uppercut slammed into his jaw. Aros stopped mid flight and reversed course from the sudden impact.
Anak fell to the floor, motionless.
The fight was over.
Part II
Specialist Karcie sat at the main chair in the reception area to the office of the Commander of The Space Service. He was browsing over the schedule of Grand Marshal Midord for the fourth time that day. A young Major, who had already spoken with the specialist at his desk, sat in the outer office chairs, awaiting his time slot with the Grand Marshal.
Karcie had been the Grand Marshal’s pilot for the past two years. In that time he had accompanied the Space Services' top ranking officer all over the Tellus defense grid. It was a tall honor for any driver, but here he was, in an office, behind a desk, three and a half years into his service; still just a specialist. He couldn’t wait to get his recommendation letter from the old man and get back out to the line. Back to the line and start all over. He would have to re-prove himself as more than just chauffeur who had gone soft lounging groundside.
After his short spurt of mental venting tapered, Karcie picked up his scroll to read the pilots manual. If he couldn’t get real experience, he would have to settle for the next best thing. Like superstitious magic, just two words in to his reading of atmospheric maneuvers in non-fixed wing craft, the intercom connecting him to the Grand M
arshals office buzzed. A red light on the pilot’s desk blinked in rapid succession. Karcie punched the button.
“Yes, sir?”
“Has Major Kanalet arrived?”
The major’s head popped up from his own scroll. The two looked at each other as the major listened in. The Major was common looking. Young, thin, medium skin and a dark shadow of facial hair that meant he would probably have to shave twice a day to look professional.
“He is here, Sir.”
“I’m ready for him.”
The intercom switched off as the major rose and adjusted his uniform. “Any advice for me?” Major Ram Kanalet asked as he began his walk towards the hall leading to the big office.
Karcie chuckled before he responded. “Just don’t say anything bad about his favorite team.”
“The Chiefs?”
“That’s the one, good luck, Sir.”
***
“Have a seat, Major,” the Grand Marshal of the Space Service said to his subordinate officer. “I’ve got quite a bit to do today. I assume you have begun your assignment? You have a key piece of this puzzle and your reports will be critical in the overall picture that this inquisition will paint.”
Midord took a deep breath and turned slightly sideways in his high-backed chair. It was black leather and made the golden-red of his uniform trimming stand out sharply.
“To give you a better brief, a major incident occurred on the Prime Meridian’s last mission and Lieutenant Drogen was right in the middle of it. Contact with the Scalies was made and there was a substantial engagement. The reports from Captain Bartlett are not clear about the exact chain of events, but the Prime Meridian escaped and the gunship Drogen delivered is gone, along with himself and two other service members. Your assignment is him. When the Prime Meridian returns, you will join the other inquisition officers that will be investigating the particulars of the entire event.
